998: Saving the world yet again

Brace yourself kids, because I have had another one of my insanely brilliant ideas.

This cold weather of February has reminded me winter brings with it stupid cold weather, snow and rain and of course the sad and lonely come out to make us all feel even more miserable.

If all goes to plan we have 10 months to get this amazing formula of mine put in place and up and running.

The best thing of all is – it’s easy!

Here’s the problem:

I'm not the problem - You are...

When it gets cold and/or towards the end the year, the vulnerable parts of or society tend to find themselves cut off meaning they feel even more lonely and afraid.

These two sections of our communities are often referred to as the Old and the Lonely.

I propose we offer an outlet for both of these types that allows the rest of us “normal folk” to carry on with buying our gizmos and gadgets without fear of guilt creeping into our subconsiousness and ruining what promises to be a cosy weekend in front of our massive TVs.

Old people, as we all know, love nothing more than talking. They can talk about anything and everything. Sometimes it doesn’t even make sense.

On the flip side of things there are the loners. The socially incompatible who, for whatever reason, can’t or won’t speak to others. They go unnoticed in our day to day lives until a few weeks after they die and someone calls the council about the smell.  It’s at this point the police smash the door down to find mountains of old newspapers and a load of feral cats feeding off the remains of some house bound hermit.

Let’s get these two groups together via the medium of telephones!

Listen to me if you want to live..

There are currently... oh I don’t know . . . 9 million charity hotlines of each and every aspect of speaking your mind or just getting things off your chest so that you can feel better about yourself or hear that piece of advice that you already know to be true.

Who better to hear it off than someone’s Gran?

Grans and Nanas know EVERYTHING! They have lived lives to the fullest and bake and do things with knitting needles and other dying arts that will soon be lost forever.

Moreover, these retired folks often complain that they too have nobody to talk to.

So I think we (and by we I mean somebody else) should install dedicated telephones in old people’s homes in an attempt to create a network of hotlines for those who need help but don’t want to be preached at by a self righteous do-gooding vegan crystal healer.

Think of the Shit I got upto as a teenager!

Think about it.

Who else but a Granny can tell you to pull your socks up and get on with life, while passing on their special recipe of treacle toffee and sponge cake all the while making you feel like YOU are the one doing THEM a favour by getting in touch?

A Granny would never be patronising or talk down to you. They listen.

That’s what grannies do best.

They have life experience. Lived and fought through wars, depressions, 3 day weeks, rationing and a myriad of problems and issues that were never a life defeating stop the clocks and punish yourself milestone around your neck that they are today, because people simply didn’t have time to sit around and over think things back then.

In the old days people didn’t have such problems as obesity (because people were just called fat in those days) nor did they have overflowing debt (because nobody had money anyway and there were not as many things to buy).

Grannies would just tell you get on with it and remind you times used to be a lot harder in their day. But it would be done in such a way that you knew it was right and you were being very selfish and or lazy.

Here comes the clever bit.

...Umm....

Because these grannies would be” working from home” although not being paid as such, they would be able to take advantage of a little known government policy that allows those who work from home to claim up to £3 per day for use of their own utilities.

This equates to around £1000 per year.

Starting to make sense now isn’t it?

This extra money could be put towards heating bills, food bills or those extra scratch cards they insist on buying.

These phone lines can be open 24 hours a day because old people rarely sleep. They’re always outside the post office well before opening times so there are no issues there that I can see.

The one and only problem might be when we have to close the phone lines at 3pm when countdown is on, or Eastenders, or Coronation Street, or Downton abbey, or antiques roadshow, or Bargin hunt...no that’s it I think. Just those shows... oh no Masterchef. They love Masterchef don’t they? Can’t disturb them when Masterchef is on. They’d be livid.

The conclusion of this would be three fold.

Firstly, people would have another avenue to communicate with someone on the end of a phone who will listen to them and be able to offer some real life advice. This would free up some much needed time and cost for the hard working charities that already exist.

Secondly, old folks will live a bit longer because they would have someone to talk to and pass on their experiences and knowledge as well as properly earning themselves a little extra cash that has already been side lined and therefore won’t cost the tax payer any extra money.

Thirdly, these phones lines will need to be monitored and the grannies trained in some respect so there are some jobs made up for the unemployed.

Not everyone will be suitable for the job though...

WALLOP!

I’ve saved the country yet again.

I think I probably deserve a big shiny medal or bronze statue or something.

As always people – you are all very welcome.

The Evils Of Charity

As if Halloween wasn’t bad enough tonight sees the BBC event of the year with a whole night dedicated to Children in bloody need. (I added the bloody bit myself).

It’s just another exercise in begging by people who should know better.

I’m not against charity.

Charity does a lot of good and is required in all aspects of life, not only for kids but animals and the frail and the needy.

It’s what sets us apart from the other animals, that aspect to help others. But my problem with all this TV extravaganza is that I am shown cleverly made videos of crying kids sulking in a corner while some two bit millionaire celebrity tells how truly awful it is that little Timmy lives in poverty blah blah blah.

Forgetting the fact that the government, local council and this poor kids own family have let him down, I’m now made to feel guilty and hand over money to appease my own consciousness.  

Every other year this event comes round and Sir Terry Wogan bumbles he way around a stage and introduces the tired routine of the news readers sing along, or eastenders comical gag routine.

Then we are subjected to the unimaginative "local reports" of people sitting in a bath of beans, dress down days et al.

if you work in an office, i guarantee there is some chump who gets all emotional and takes on the roll of ensuring everyone MUST join in with the FUN because if YOU don't JOIN IN then some child will DIE on christmas day and it will be you fault!

it's usually some middle aged woman who has doubtful sanity issues and smells of cats and has put more effort into Children in Need than that really important project shes missed the deadline for TWICE, or else its a young upstart trainee with nothing better to do.

Its all done in a  poor and rubbish manner. Just because it’s for charity, doesn’t mean any of them should try less.

For once I dont claim to have an answer to the problem (although i will think on) brecause the problem is one that is bigger than a simple bath of bean or "laugh-at-me-for-50p" event. but there is no reason for the groundhog day style repeat of same old routine same comics being dragged out for the ake of filling 5 hours of BBC air time.

*warning semi-serious bit*

IF – if you feel obliged to give and help charities, then don’t just throw a couple of coins their way, 

actually help. Most charities need physical help. Volunteers are what are required. Money is great but doesn’t solve all the problems.

... Oh and only give to charities that are none profit.

Always ask if they are, because if not most of the cash you hand over goes into some marketing manager’s pocket and never gets to those who need it.

If you have a beating heart and have morals – then you can give here Bumferry Hogart Is A Horrible Person

Rant over.

i'm going to get out of this bean bath now.... its gone cold.

Put yer hand in yer pocket...

Proof the world has gone mad.


In its infinite wisdom the UK government has decided that it is going change the money in YOUR pocket.
But and why Bumferry?!?! I hear you ask...
Simple.

Those little beautiful 5ps and 10 penny pieces are now being made with a different material and are slightly thicker.
This means they will not work in vending machines, parking meters or lubricated protective machines found in gentleman’s washrooms throughout the land.
This can only lead to dangerous consequences!


Imagine, if you will, the following scenario.

You are late for work. The normal parking space you usually occupy is taken and so you have to park on the high street. You rush to the pay and display machine and you have the correct change but – OHNO! - The machine will not accept your money because it has not yet been calibrated to accept the new rubbish 5 and tens.

What to do!!

Sod it. You think about throwing in your last pound coin knowing that the machine will not under any circumstances give you change of any description. But decide against it. There’s never a warden around here anyway, so it’ll be alright.
You don’t have time for messing about. YOU have got a very important meeting to go to.

You rush into work and make it into the meeting with seconds to spare (although you are rather sweaty and flushed in the face).

The meeting drags on all day because that dozy bint from accounts just doesn’t get it even though she’s had explained to her in 4 different ways... honestly, how she got the job in the first place, I’ll never know.
Anyway, because of her you have missed lunch and have to work 'til 7pm! – Bummer.
You go back to the car to find that it’s been clamped.

Cock!

The tears begin to swell in your eyes when Alice from HR taps you on the shoulder. You know Alice, the French girl with the legs that go all the way to the top. She always smiles at you when she walks through the office... yea that Alice.
Alice asks if you want to go for a drink with the guys from HR.

Now, normally you wouldn’t be seen dead with the geeks from Hr – it’s all over exaggerated tales of sexual exploits and some dodgy goings on with some kind of legal high, which is truly beneath you, but Alice...

Well you can’t say no, your cars been clamped and you’re starving.
Better not eat on an empty stomach though.

You agree to meet Alice in the pub and run upstairs to get a nutri-bar from the vending machine... but OHNO AGAIN!!

The bloody machine hasn’t been calibrated for the new 10ps and 5ps. Cockcockcock!
Never mind. You will just stay for one drink and then get the bus home. That’ll work.

You get to the pub and alive has got you a pint.

Good girl.

Suffering the moronic chattering of the monkeys from HR is only just bearable because of the wonderful pint buying Alice and as you grudgingly finish the last drop she asks if you want another and before you can explain that you should get home she adds that it’s all being paid from the petty cash because it’s her leaving do. The strange emotion that you will never see this heavenly beauty again added with the prospect of free beer paid by work is too tempting and you agree to stay for more.

The day has been a disaster but the night is more than making up for that as by the end of the second pint the dumb gits from HR can’t handle their drinks and are either being sick outside, crying in the toilets or have wandered off to piss on a war memorial.

That leaves just you and the wonderful Alice.

God she-is-beautiful.

More drinks are bought and drunk as the night goes on.

Alice asks you back to her for coffee!

GET IN!!

But wait. You don’t any... y’know ...things.

“I’ll just nip to the loo.” You say and race to the gents to buy a helmet for your little general. (Or whatever you call your penis)

Cockcockcockcockcockcockcockcockcockcockcockcockcockcock

The bloody condom machine hasn’t been changed to accept these bloody useless silver pieces of crap you’ve had in your pocket banging against your balls, probably giving you some kind of cancer.

Sod it.

It’ll be alright.

The taxis waiting anyway and you reckon she will have a stash anyway. She’s French!
4 and bit weeks later, the memories of that sweaty, thrusting moaning heavy breathing night are now just simple freeze frames of sexy and possibly illegal positions and manoeuvres.

Everything is ok with the world until your phone beeps.

It’s a text from Alice.

She’s missed her lady period.

It’s yours.

Cock.

Her father is furious and just happens to be the ambassador to the UK.

Double cock.

You are now involved in some kind European discord that results in France
withdrawing from Europe and dragging the UK into another deep recession as most of
Europe falls in line with the frogs and its all your fault.
What’s more – you still have a load of 5ps and 10ps in your pocket.

That could quite easily happen.

All you can do to make sure it’s not you that causes all this bloody mess is to send all your 10ps (but not 5’s cos they’re too fiddly) to me at The Bumferry Hogart Charity Fund.

Do it now. Don’t get caught out.

You have been warned.